Succubus Summoning 201

This is the start of the next story arc in the "Succubus Summoning" series. It's not necessary to read the whole of that (101-114) to enjoy the sex scenes in this, but it might help make the bits in between make a lot more sense.

Yeah, I know this was supposed to be out around six months ago. Life, work, random kidnappings to the nether regions of hell, etc, etc.

*/

Phil Rowling stared up at the walls of Wargsnouts College for Warlocks. The gothic structure stood atop a small rise and extended into the moonlit sky like a twisted black fang. It dominated the skyline like any number of Dracula's castles from old B movies. Had the college grown to imitate fiction or had fiction drawn inspiration from it? It was hard to say; the college was at once both vibrant and alive, and immeasurably ancient.

Phil remembered the first time he'd set eyes on it. Roald Garner, who Phil would later learn was one of Wargsnouts' recruiting officers, had brought him out to a deserted patch of wilderness next to a dark, silent lake.

Phil's thoughts had been awhirl at the time. Not only had he found out magic was real, he'd been told he was going to be taught how to use it. Of course he'd still had doubts, and those doubts had returned with a vengeance when Garner had stopped and announced they'd arrived.

Arrived? Where? There was nothing here. So it was lunacy after all, he'd thought with a crushing sense of disappointment.

It hadn't taken much persuasion to get Phil to come out here. A non-life of flipping burgers wasn't anything he wanted to go back to.

Garner tapped him on the shoulder, smiled and pointed to the top of hill. And there it was, a gigantic black edifice suddenly appearing out of what Phil would have sworn was nothing but empty night sky.

"It was always there," Garner said, enjoying Phil's expression of confusion. "Like the rest of our world you only had to open your eyes to see."

He meant worlds. Phil learnt what most people considered hell was really a series of dimensions separated from our reality by a thin membrane. Warlocks derived their power from the denizens—daemons—that inhabited these adjacent realms. Wargsnouts taught its students how to summon these beings and get them to do their bidding.

In theory.

"I thought it would look more impressive," Verdé said, bringing Phil back to the present.

Verdé wore a diaphanous green robe cinched tightly around her narrow waist. The V of her neckline plunged right down, revealing the lush valley of her cleavage. The dress was slit at the side all the way up to her waist, perfectly designed to show off her toned and supple legs. Her long green hair flowed down over her shoulders.

Rosa was slightly taller and her fiery red hair was cropped in a cute little bob. She wore a shiny red latex body suit with cut out sections over her flat midriff. The rubber stretched taut over her disproportionately large breasts.

Both currently had an arm around Phil's waist. From that description it made him sound like a gangsta pimp or lothario porn director, posing with a sexy floozy on each arm, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

In theory, Wargsnouts' lessons were supposed to teach the students how to summon and control daemons. In practise, they were mostly about how to avoid being eaten, charred, crushed, shredded, mangled or otherwise killed in some ghastly fashion by the daemons they attempted to summon.

In Phil's case the lessons had not exactly been a success.

Rosa and Verdé were succubi. Incredibly sexy, but not human. They had horns, a tail and bat-like wings. None of which detracted in any way from the supernatural seductiveness they radiated.

A man waited for Phil about halfway up the hill. He looked like a greasy child molester dressed in tattered black wizard's robes. A normal person would have dismissed him as a socially inadequate escapee from a Sci-Fi and Fantasy convention.

Normal people thought magic—and daemons—didn't exist.

"Welcome back Phil, my boy," Stine, the lecturer most students dubbed the Scrote, said. "Glad to see you made it back okay." He flashed Phil a smile that was missing half its teeth, with the remainder yellow and rotten.

No help from you, Phil thought.

"And I see you've brought a pair of delectable succubi back with you." The Scrote leered at Rosa and Verdé. "Well done, boy. They're my favourite type of daemon, if you didn't already know."

If Phil didn't already know, he could take a good guess from the way the Scrote's gaze was currently riveted on Rosa's breasts.

"So useful in so many different ways," the Scrote continued.

Again, Phil could take a pretty good guess at what some of those 'ways' were. The Scrote was indeed a filthy animal.

Rosa and Verdé didn't seem to mind. They smiled, posed seductively and pouted their lips. Succubi were every socially awkward man's dream. They just didn't care.

It was why Phil and Jake had borrowed the Daemonica Malefique and summoned them in the first place. They thought they knew what they were doing. After all how dangerous could it be, summoning a daemon whose principal attack was to have sex with you?

Jake's absence was answer enough to that.

"What happens now?" Phil asked.

"Why, you continue your studies, my boy," the Scrote said. "Getting your daemon...daemons..." he corrected, although to Phil it looked more like he was counting Rosa and Verdé's breasts rather than the succubi themselves. "...is only the first stage. Now you need to learn how to train them to do your bidding."

Rosa arched her eyebrow and looked at Verdé with an amused expression.

"And this would be your special program?" Phil said.

"Exactly, boy. You got it in one," the Scrote said with another rotten-toothed leer. He leant forward to whisper conspiratorially. "But keep it quiet though. These lessons aren't exactly on the main curriculum."

"See what?" Phil asked. All he saw was the Scrote, looking a little like a vulture as he stood on the side of the hill.

Rosa and Verdé looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Humans," Verdé said. "Always looking and seeing nothing."

"Occulora exnida tanja vaarsta Magique," Rosa said, and then swatted Phil on the back of his head hard enough to knock him off balance.

When he lifted his head back up the world looked different, as if he was staring through a pair of weirdly polarised goggles. The world seemed brighter, as if everything was traced with a spectral glow. Wargsnouts itself wasn't so much lined as painted. The whole building was incandescent with a strange—Phil would have said purple, but that was only because it was the closest his mind could come to comprehending it—light.

The same light flickered around the outline of the Scrote's silhouette and ran across his body in thick lines. The lines were concentrated around his crotch, so much so that it looked to Phil like the greasy warlock was wearing underwear lined with fluorescent tubes.

"What's that?" he asked, turning back to Rosa.

Immediately he had to look away, his eyes screaming in pain. The afterimage of a figure glowing brighter than a sun was still super-imposed on the back of his eyelids.

"Whoops, sorry," Rosa said. She whispered some words and tapped Phil on the shoulder.

He blinked, trying to clear the grey dots floating in front of his eyes. Was that Rosa? It felt like a camera flash had gone off in his face.

"I had to up the juice a little to get past the cloaking magic he's using," Rosa said with an innocent smile.

"What's under his robes?" Phil asked, his vision clearing.

"A safety valve," Verdé said.

"Safety valve?"

"When we have you in our luscious pussies and you start coming and can't stop, what does it feel like?" Verdé asked.

"Like a tap's been turned on and I can't turn it off," Phil answered. Several nights in the company of the succubi had left Phil extremely familiar with that feeling.

"That's it exactly," Verdé said. "That's how we feed. We use sex to keep the conduit open and then draw the life energy out of our victims."

"But not Stine?" Phil said, looking up at the warlock standing out against the evening sky. The lines of illumination were no longer visible to him.

"No," Verdé said. "He has his emergency shut off valve. He can have sex with a succubus and she can make him come, but then his protective magic will activate and force the tap shut. No matter how hard she tries, a succubus will only be able to take as much energy as he's willing to give her."

That sounded pretty damn useful to Phil.

"Can I learn that?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," Rosa said. "I hate feeding in little dribbles."

The succubi put their arms around Phil and together they continued down the path. Around the corner a surprise was waiting for Phil. In contrast to the shallow slope of the other side, this side of the hill was sheer and rocky, almost a flat cliff face. There was little natural about the rock formations. Instead of extending upwards into the sky, Wargsnouts had gone downwards, worming through the ground beneath it and hollowing out the hill like a Swiss cheese. Phil looked at the fantastic array of windows and doors carved out of the solid rock of the cliff face and was awed. This was a part of the college he hadn't seen before or even knew existed. Like an iceberg there was far more to Wargsnouts than the grand building sitting on top of the hill.

Stine's succubus stood outside one of the side entrances. Phil didn't need to see her black bat wings, horns and tail to identify her as a succubus. Like Rosa and Verdé she possessed an aura of sex appeal that was too strong to be natural.

"Ooh, a Bedmistress of the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous pleasures," Verdé said, "and a fairly high ranking one at that. You can tell by the length of her pink plume."

Which one? Phil thought.

The succubus had three—two extending from the bustle of a long, elaborate black dress that looked like it belonged in a decadent period drama and a third tucked behind her right ear that curled up and over her silky black hair. Decadent was a word that fit her well. Period drama dresses were supposed to preserve the modesty of the young women who wore them by covering up as much of their flesh as possible. This...failed. The dress was open at the front and revealed long elegant legs clothed in stockings and a garter belt. The daemon had a perfect hourglass figure and a tight bodice of black lace drew attention to rather than covered her pale, curvaceous breasts. Burlesque was the other word that came to mind.

For all of her considerable sex appeal, the daemon was icy and aloof. She barely deigned to even acknowledge Phil's presence. Women like her never needed to make an effort. They were rocks amorous suitors dashed themselves broken and bloody against.

"I'm...um...Phil Rowling," Phil said. "I'm one of Stine's new students. And these are my succubi, R—"

Before he could introduce them, Verdé stepped forward and curtsied before the elegant succubus like an excited schoolgirl.

"Greetings ma'am. It's an honour to meet such a distinguished and high-ranking daemon as your iniquitous self."

The daemon looked flattered and also a little puzzled.

"Which House of Ecstatic Sin do you serve?" she asked. "I see no insignia I recognise. Which Circle of Lust do you hail from?"

"Just a pair of lesser-realm hell-sluts," Rosa added with a broad smile.

The succubus dropped her icy demeanour and turned her seductive attentions fully onto Phil. He felt it immediately. It felt like his whole body was gripped tightly in a velvet glove as her blue eyes stared into his. She leant closer until her perfume enveloped him. Phil shivered as he felt her hand slip through his robes and press against his crotch.

"You should work on the strength of your summons, young man," the succubus whispered to him. "Then you might attract a pleasure daemon of appropriate rank and breeding."

Her hand stroked up his cock with a featherlight caress that sent electricity crackling across his nerve endings. Phil let out his pent-up breath and shuddered as he involuntarily ejaculated into her hand. The succubus's supple lips turned up in an amused half-smile and she continued to stare into his eyes as she brought her hand up and licked his semen off the palm.

Then she released him with no more afterthought than if he'd been a momentarily diverting butterfly. She motioned him through the door and to the left. Phil walked away, his legs still jangling in the aftermath of the unexpected orgasm. Phil felt no pleasure from it. Instead he felt soiled, as if he'd just been milked like a cow.

"Hey, did she just diss us as having no class," Rosa said once they were through the door.

"Very haughty, the Bedmistresses of the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures," Verdé said.

Phil's lessons on the politics of Hell had been as muddled and incomprehensible as his lessons on the geography of Hell. He hadn't even heard of the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures and had no clue how the ranking hierarchy of succubi worked.

"Don't you have a castle?" he asked.

A very big castle. They'd kept him prisoner in it for the past month or so.

Great, so I'm master to members of the squatter class of succubi, Phil thought. And barely that. It said a lot about his summoning skills.

"Nÿte worked in the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures for a while," Rosa said.

"Yeah?" Phil could see that. Nÿte, another of the succubi that shared Rosa and Verdé's castle, had a similar icy beauty to the succubus on the door.

"They made her leave. A disagreement between her and the management over what constituted pleasure."

Phil could also see that. Nÿte terrified him.

"This must be it," Verdé said.

They walked through into a largish waiting area. Phil saw lots of other students. They all looked a similar age to Phil's eighteen, or maybe slightly older. They were also dressed in everyday normal clothes—jeans, T-shirts, hooded sweaters. Phil felt like a weirdo in the tatty and singed warlock's cloak he was wearing. He supposed he should be thankful for at least that. He had a suspicion if Rosa had her way he'd be wearing nothing at all.

Phil's entrance garnered some interest as they saw his robes and mistakenly thought he might be one of the staff. Then they saw his face, realised he looked as confused and bewildered as them, and lost interest. They resumed conversing amongst themselves in little groups.

It could be a scene from any university...if you ignored the daemons.

There were a lot of daemons, around one for each student by Phil's reckoning. The daemons came in a riotous mix of different shapes. Some were recognisably humanoid; others were far more alien combinations of octopoidal tentacles and bristling, chitinous plates. Some were so abstract as to almost defy description: like a squat pile of pink flesh with a large mouth—its only feature—in the centre, or a floating collection of riveted iron plates that endlessly slid over and around each other in a chaotic ball-like shape.

"Hey, you got a succubus too?"

Phil was approached by a young man. He didn't look like the sort that would need to seek out a succubus. He was tall, muscular and had a strong jaw covered in the beginnings of a slightly disorganised beard. Dirty blonde hair framed an easygoing face with green eyes. Not the typical Wargsnouts student, Phil was thinking, until he saw the burn scar that extended down the right hand side of the man's neck and under his T-shirt, presumably the result of some arcane mishap or other.

"I'm Eric," the young man said, offering his hand.

"Phil," Phil replied.

Eric's other arm was around a very attractive girl. She looked to be in her late teens and she had the slim figure, golden tan and lovely smile of the archetypal cheerleader-next-door. She wore a cut-off pair of denim shorts that showed off her long, supple legs and an open shirt with the tails tied together above a flat belly.

She was a daemon.

It wasn't easy to tell. She was using some kind of magic to mask her features. Whenever Phil looked at her directly he saw only a nubile young hottie. The dainty little horns poking up out of her silky blonde hair only appeared when he shifted his gaze so she was no longer the focus.

"They're the best, aren't they," Eric said, giving the girl a little squeeze. "So much more than just a pet."

He turned his head and kissed her on the cheek. To the outsider they looked like a young couple in love.

Phil wasn't an outsider and he could see the succubus's eyes. They were flat and black. There was no love in those eyes, only hunger. It was like staring into the cold gaze of a bear or wolf. He shivered.

"See you around, Phil," Eric said, moving away, his arm around the sylph-like succubus at his waist.

"I fear for that young man's soul," Verdé said later while they sat on a bench at the back of the room. Over on the other side, Eric had his arms around his succubus and they were making out as if the rest of the room didn't exist. "I don't think he has his succubus fully under control."

She turned her head. Rosa had pinned Phil to the back wall and his arms were waving up and down as she passionately kissed him.

Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

"Rosa!" Verdé said. "Don't show up our master in front of all these people."

"Um...sorry," Rosa said, breaking off the kiss and allowing Phil to suck in a gulp of air.

Verdé sighed and shook her head in exasperation.

Phil was not the only one having problems with his daemon. A stick-thin girl with droopy blonde hair looked at him with a sympathetic expression. A fat brown imp sat on top of her head. It pulled faces and made a series of increasingly obscene gestures. The girl smiled apologetically. The imp blew a raspberry, jumped round to moon them with a pimply ass and then finished up by turning back, pointing a prodigiously large cock—for its small size—in their direction and stroking it with a warty hand.

The Scrote entered the room. The girl whispered something to her imp and they both turned to face the black-robed lecturer.

"Come on, come on," the Scrote said, beckoning them to the door before scampering through ahead of them.

Phil walked through into a medium sized lecture theatre with dusty old seats. Down below was a stage with warped wooden floorboards. Phil snuck into a seat up in the darkness of the back row and Rosa and Verdé sat down on either side of him. He sensed a little ripple of anticipation running through the students. It reminded him of the excitement and trepidation he'd felt when sitting down to receive his first lessons in magic. It had only taken a week of bone-dry lectures to grind that initial excitement into dust. Wargsnouts was a school. Worse, Wargsnouts was a school stuck in the mores and methodology of two centuries back. Phil didn't know what to expect from the Scrote though. He didn't seem to share the same necessity for care and caution as the rest of the college.